


The Vampire AU -- written on Jon's shitty flip phone

by Miss_A



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: 80's, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Asthma! Mephistopheles, Blood, Canada, Comedy, Cult, Dead Parents, Eighties, Emo Jon, Floating - Freeform, M/M, Nihilism, Nudity, Undead, Virginity, big knife, black velvet overalls, blood bags - Freeform, broken 4th wall, church, hip thrust, myspace - Freeform, pervy, shitty flip phone, shower scene, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_A/pseuds/Miss_A
Summary: What can I say? Every fandom needs a vampire AU. Read this to firsthand experience the adventures of perv-alicious Mephistopheles, emo-af Jon, and Sock. It's gonna be a greeaaaat ride, trust me ;)Sock, a newly turned vampire, can't control his powers and accidentally sucks his parents dry. He gives up, and surrenders his body over to the Ęviι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord. However, before joining the nihilistic vampire cult for all of eternity, Sock has to complete three initiation trials-- one of which is drinking the blood of a virgin.





	The Vampire AU -- written on Jon's shitty flip phone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pingnova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pingnova/gifts), [KumquatAssassin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KumquatAssassin/gifts).



Napoleon pulled away—the body of his mother fell to the kitchen floor. His father’s body laid in the adjacent dining room. Both of his parents were dead, unmoving, sucked dry of their blood. Napoleon grabbed a dishrag off of the counter and threw it over the sunken face of his mother. “Aughh. Seriously. I’m sorry, Mom. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

The clock struck eight—dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong.On the eighth strike, Napoleon left the house.

He walked off into the night with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and a slightly crumpled business card, reading: “Ęviι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord. Offers courses on vampire obedience-training, nihilism, and manual-labour. All at one easy price of voluntary serfdom! :) !” Napoleon flipped the card over. “Visit us at—6669 Notavampire Street, Montreal, QC, V8c-5z3, CA.” Napoleon stopped. He stood along the very street listed in the address. It was as if some otherworldly cosmic force controlled his fate, and pulled his feet in the right direction. “Take me, Ęviι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord,” he shouted into the night. “I surrender my body over to you!”

Nothing. No response. No heavenly intervention.

Napoleon looked up at the building that loomed above him, the house number read—6969. Wrong address. He continued along the path until reaching a weathered church numbered, 6669.  A crumbling crucifix statue propped the front door open. The brash sounds of drilling, grunting, and clunking echoed out of the building. Like any rational vampire, Napoleon stepped inside.  Scattered inside the room were ghastly men and women, floating as they painted walls, grouted tiles, and installed light fixtures. They wore uniforms of black velvet overalls— a fashion statement Napoleon hadn’t seen since the 80’s. A group of bandage-covered, yet very-much alive, young adults lounged in a corner. The delectable scent coming from these blood bags permeated the room. Their plump faces and rosy cheeks drove Napoleon crazy, he could almost visualize the blood pulsing through their veins.

“I do say...” a voice came from above. Napoleon looked up. “You look quite out of place here.” Over Napoleon’s head floated a man with a dark goatee, holding a bottle of bathroom cleaner. 

“I am here to… uh.” Napoleon looked back down at the business card, attempting to read its overly-looped font. “Submit to serfdom?”

The man’s feet hit the ground with an audible smack.He faced Napoleon, eye-to-eye, and leaned in until his cheek grazed Napoleon’s nose. “Run while you still can,” he uttered, barely above a whisper.

“What-“

“Follow me.” The man swiveled around, pushed off with the heel of his boot, and flung himself into the air. He flew five feet, then dropped; leaning against a heavily rusted metal door. “The Ęviι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord resides under the foundation of this building,” he said, with a quick rap against the metal. Napoleon scampered up to his guide.

A chilling draft escaped from under the door and rolled over Napoleon’s feet. “So, do I follow you down there?” he asked.

The man shook his head. “You go alone.”  The door opened, sending a wave of cold air against Napoleon’s skin. He took a step into the dark passage.

Napoleon descended into Hell.

**.**

**.**

**.        .        .**

 

Napoleon walked down the ill-lit stairwell for what felt like an hour before any signs of an ‘Ęviι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord’ lair emerged. On the 867th step, he heard music. Eighties music. After the 900th step, Napoleon reached a modern, wooden, door. From it, a sign hung, reading “ ~~Mephistopheles~~ , ~~the~~ ~~Ę viι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord~~ Phillip.” Napoleon opened the door.

“Keep your pelvis tight, ladies! Ready? Take it up. And down. And up. And now front. And back. One—two—one—two. Keep it goooing!” A tall, sweaty, man dressed in a white unitard with matching wrist and forehead sweatbands followed along to an 80s exercise tape. He popped his prominent hips in and out along with the rhythm, “One. Two. One. Two,” he mimicked. “Ohh, hell yes. Speedo season here I come!”

“Oh, hi.” Napoleon walked into the room and timidly shut the door behind him.“I, uh, surrender my body over to you, I guess.” 

“Ahhh.” The Ęviι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord turned off the VHS player, panting, “Be of use then, and crank up the AC. I’m hot as hades,” he pinched the white spandex crotch of the unitard in-between his fingers, pulled it back, and snapped it “the airflow really sucks 500 feet underground for some reason”.

“uh.”

“Nevermind.” He wiped fresh sweat out of his crimson chest hair, peaking from the unitard’s deep V. “I’m Mephistopheles, the Ęviι Vαmpirε Θvεrιord. Also known by certain subgroups as Phillip.” He huffed. “But most people just call me Mephistophelesss..s.” Running out of breath, he collapsed onto a nearby table and wheezed. Napoleon ran forward and gently placed a hand on the man’s warm, lightly moistened, back. 

“Uh, sir?” he asked. Under his fingers, he felt Mephistopheles’s muscles ripple with every heaving breath. “You okay?” 

After giving himself a few moments of composure, Mephistopheles forced himself upright and grabbed a clipboard off the table. “Sorry. I don’t work out much. Where was I?….oh! I named myself Phillip in the eighties. It’s the only decade I actually remember. Other than that, I can never remember which era is which.” 

“that’s-,“ Napoleon began.

Mephistopheles loudly flipped through the clipboard’s pages, drowning out all other noises. “Anyways. Welcome to my little cult. I have a checklist here of what little things we need to cover before you’re fully initiated.” He lowered his voice to a barely-audible whisper, “and under my absolute control.” Mephistopheles stopped fingering the pages and returned to the first sheet in the stack. It contained a checklist inscribed in bright red ink. “Okay. Step one: Naming Ceremony. What’s your name, kid?”

Napoleon beamed, “I’m named after a super cool distant relative, he was the Emperor of France. It’s Napoleon—” 

Mephistopheles snorted. “That’s one terrible vampire name. Who the hell is gonna take you seriously? …No one, thats who.” 

“HEY.“

Mephistopheles clapped his hands together. ”From here on out I’m calling you Gene.” He began to write on the checklist, stopped, then quickly flipped to a different page in his thick stack. “Wait, never mind. That’s taken. How about Sock? I used to use those a lot when I was your age…. if you get what I mean.” Without waiting for the boy’s reply, he moved on. “That’s good. Okay. Next step—slaughter two innocents!“

Sock flinched.

“Been there, done that.” Mephistopheles grinned and scribbled onto the page in his chicken scratch penmanship. “You’re ahead of the game.” Looking as gleeful as anyone could while filling out paperwork, he tilted his head down until he came eye to eye with Sock. “Now, on to the last step. Drink the blood of a virgin.” 

“I’m down for that.” Sock nodded vigorously. 

“Now, unfortunately,” Mephistopheles set the clipboard down, and laced his sweaty hands together.“Other than you, I don’t have any eligible virgins on hand at the moment.” He looked away, face burning red, and loosened the collar on his unitard. “For that, I have only myself to blame.”

“What happened to your virgins?” Sock asked.

“…Anyways!” Mephistopheles slammed his hands together. ”I know just the perfect virgin you can feast from.” He pulled a crinkled wrapper of some sort out of his pocket, and with a pen scribbled down an address a few blocks from the church.“Go get him, tiger.” 

 

**.         .         .**

**.**

. 

 

Jonathan’s naked back stuck against the shower wall, in that sticky, steamy kind of way. Water rained down from the nozzle above, but not close enough to actually get him wet. “ah… yeahhh. A little more to the left.”  He tilted his body a tad to the left and lowered down his chin. Keeping his body in the stance, he outstretched his left arm above his head. In that hand he held his shitty flip phone, on camera mode, protected in a plastic sandwich bag. In his right hand he held a knife—it only cost a dollar on eBay and was authentically made in Japan for real ninjas. He brought the knife up to his lower lip and pouted. “My Myspace selfie game is going to be so frickin' epic.”

The floorboard squeaked. Sock took his first timid step into the bathroom. Like any sensible vampire, he removed his shoes at the front door— socks were obviously stealthier than shoes. Jonathon, preoccupied posing in in the shower, did not notice the vampire’s presence. Sock took a few anxious steps forward, then yanked the shower curtain open, coming face-to-face with his virgin.

“…wh. the FUCK!” Jonathan jumped away from the wall, dropping his bagged flip phone in the process. He clumsily pointed the end of his knife towards the intruder, and used his other hand to cover his groin. 

Sock took a step forward, eyes wide. “You’re a virgin, right?”

“getAWAY! d..ont make me uSE THIS!” Jonathan waved the knife in front of him. Sock reached out and grabbed the knife’s blade in his hands. The cheap quality metal sliced through his skin, but didn’t stop him in the slightest. Sock flashed his fangs, Jonathon went pale. “fu…Fuc….wUCK!”

Sock took a step into the water. The socks on his feet became grossly wet. On the next step, he lost his footing and slipped into Jonathan’s smooth chest. They fell. Jonathon hit the ground, hard. Sock fell onto Jonathan’s face. He slammed his bloodied hand down onto Jonathan’s mouth, flawlessly catching himself from the brute force of the fall. A second later, he realized his bleeding hand may have slipped a teensy bit into Jonathon’s mouth. Understatement. He was sorta fisting the guy. 

“mmghgf….” Jonathan forcefully pushed Sock’s hand out of him, and spat out a mouthful of blood “blUrghspppt..…ptuh..h….ew… what the.”  Jonathon ceased his thrashing attempts to buck Sock off of him. He laid still, underneath Sock’s straddle, as his skin rapidly turned a cold, hard, ashy grey. His transformation began, his soul laid in the hands of the dark forces forever to succumb to its perverted wishes. . . .

.      .      .

.      .      .

.      .      .

 

“wait. If I’m a Vampire I’m going to get SO many more MySpace followers,” Jonathon said while fiddling with his flip phone. 

Sock shrugged. The squelching of his wet socks on the pavement drowned out the noise of his words: “eh. Thats probably the only benefit-“  
“HA! take that x0Zach_Narcizzizt0x!” Jonathon grumbled and slammed his phone shut. “Fucking scene king. Vampires are way cooler than your stupid ‘rage face memes’. Like who the fuck even uses those.”   Jonathon, now fully clothed, followed Sock down the desolate night streets of Montreal. The dark alleys and frigid air scared the mortals, keeping them locked away inside their abodes.Vampires are not bothered by such trivial things. They truly are creatures of the night. Jonathon snapped a selfie with his flip phone. The flash illuminated the decrepit building in front of them numbered: 6669.

**.**

**.**

**.        .        .**

 

“Ahhh. I remember my first virgin,” Mephistopheles exhaled, leaned back on his exercise ball, and licked his lips. “Yumm. I bet his blood must have tasted as amazing as the rest of his body. Not drinking it is one of my greatest regrets.” He looked wistfully into the white void he called his office. 

Sock and Jon stood across from him, unwillingly listening—Jon still holding the shitty knife for some reason, while toying around on his phone. “Why the fuck doesn’t this place have wifi-”

“The first virgin I drank blood from was only subpar at best— drank too much soda, tasted weird and syrupy. How did your guy taste, Sock?” He raised his eyebrows and winked. “Which part of him did you taste first?”

Sock stared blankly at Mephistopheles for a moment… and waited… then waited some more… and a little bit longer. “Oh, wait a moment. Are you finally giving me a moment to talk without cutting me off?”

Mephistopheles nodded in anticipation of Sock’s response. 

“Okay then. Well, first of all, the way you talk of virgins as sexual objects is sorta hella creepy and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop hitting on me. I’m like 18 and you're like 18,000,000. Second of all, no, Jon, theres no wifi; this is Hell, what do you expect? Third of all, I didn’t taste him, he tasted me—“ 

Mephistopheles leaned forward on the yoga ball, eyebrows still raised. “Ohh? I bet that felt… delightfully good.”

“NO. NOT LIKE THAT.” Sock ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends. “Jon, you tell him.”

Jonathon looked up from his flip phone for the first time since he became a vampire. “Oh, well. I was modeling and this crazy dude attacked me and now I’m friggen rad and undead and stuff.”

Mephistopheles scanned his eyes over Jon’s dead ashy skin. “Oh,” he said, disappointedly. “Well, in that case.” He shouldered Sock out of the way, turned to Jon, and recited his speech. “Hello. Congratulations to immortality. Welcome to my humble vampire abode. To be inducted into the cult— I mean, family, you must do three things.” He pulled out his all too familiar initiation checklist clipboard and paged through it. “You’ve already drank the blood of a virgin so we can check that off the list—”

“Hey!” Sock exclaimed.

Mephistopheles winked at you, the reader, and broke the fourth wall. “Well, its true ;) ...Unless you just read some of that Sockajon, or Jonanapole smut, but thats none of my business now, is it?”


End file.
